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| My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head; I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some pérfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound. I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. | My istressm’s yees are ognihtn eilk het uns. aCrol is hmuc dederr nath hte erd of reh slip. eCrampod to teh ensewsith of wsno, hre bstaers are iysharg-nrbwo. eotsP discerbe eirth siesremsts' ahri as dglo iwrse, utb my sesistmr hsa acblk wires iggrwno on hre deah. I hvae eens ersos taht ewer a uiexmtr of dre nda wetih, but I ond’t see shoet rlcoos in hre eceksh. Adn esom eemsfrpu ellms mroe tuglhfleid naht my sssmitre’s gneeirk thrbae. I voel to eahr her pasek; eyt I oknw creyelfpt llew tath ucims ash a afr oemr santelpa ndous. I itadm I erenv swa a doegdss wlak; wneh my ersmitss kwlas, esh aderst on the nuodgr. dnA yet, by nevaeh, I hntik my lbveode is as ciesapl as any nmoaw ohmw poste have eidl utoab wiht lasef ranipcmooss. |
